The Maynard
Spring 2015

Charles Springer

Saturday Night

Young moon
cuts the blue to night like
that part of a plowshare which on a turn of sod has the
last say.

Old dog's fast asleep
in the middle of the road
with his bellylot
of earthworms.

Workday's dead ended
in dirt-black

Ma doesn't have to look through the door screen.
calls on its own.

At the porch stone, Pop shakes the last straw from his shoes

while already, I
with a twenty and half hard in my pocket,
haul tonight into town off a jumpstart,

out for my own hand to play
or fold.